


Erreur dans la Douche

by jinkieswouldyoulookatthis



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-06-15 17:19:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15417789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jinkieswouldyoulookatthis/pseuds/jinkieswouldyoulookatthis
Summary: You were just taking a shower, how did you end up in a tv show?This is a series told in ~500 word installments. I add to it when I feel like it, or, when someone buys me a ko-fi.





	1. Chapter 1

Hot water hit your back, pummeling the tension out of your muscles. Well, maybe pummel was too strong of a word, it was doing the best it could, given the lackluster water pressure. But it was hot, maybe a little too hot, you wondered after a few minutes. It felt too good, at the moment, to turn it down, so you stood and let it wash over you. Steam billowed up and around, filling the air caught behind the shower curtain. You inhaled deeply through your nose, filling your lungs and focusing on the stretch of your chest for a moment before parting your lips and relaxing, letting your eyes close and the breath go, sending as much stress out with it as possible. 

The water definitely seemed to be getting hotter, and the pressure seemed better, kinda strong for once, as you relaxed to your left to lean against the tiled wall. You kept leaning, further than you thought you should've had to, until you stumbled a step to the side, afraid of getting off balance and slipping. Your hand shot out to steady you against the wall. How could you be so far from it? The tub was, after all, only so big. But there was no wall to your left to brace against. Your eyes flew open. 

This was not your bathroom! The shower curtain was gone, along with the tub. You were standing on a white tiled floor with a drain near your feet in what looked like a locker room, minus the lockers. The shower head stuck out from a wall with two others, a little row of exposed showers, knobs and soap dishes uniformly set into the wall. 

A draft of cool air curled around your body, goosebumps rose on your arms and legs as you looked around. Your arms instinctively folded in, wrapping around your chest protectively as all the tension sprang right back into your shoulders and you shivered despite the heat from the shower on your back. A door in the corner of the room suddenly pushed open a crack, making you jump and back up a little, water running in rivulets over your hair, dripping from one eyebrow and the tip of your nose.

"Sam? What the hell, man? Didn't you already take a shower? How clean do you need to be to sit in the car for eleven hours?" A deep voice boomed through the crack...a very familiar sounding deep voice.

"Sam!" 

You jumped again, this time looking frantically around for some kind of cover. The door started to push open more as you dashed over and grabbed a towel from a hook on the opposite wall. You weren't completely covered before the door was fully open.

"What the...? Who the hell are you?!?" Confusion, then anger came with the words, carried by them wi a force that nearly knocked you back a step as you hugged the towel to you. 

You were vaguely aware that you weren't breathing right, your lungs stuttering and stopping and stuttering again. But, in all fairness, your brain seemed to be doing the same thing. Standing in the door, effectively filling the frame, was none other than Dean Winchester. Or, uh, Jensen Ackles in Dean mode? But he'd been talking to Sam, he'd said Sam not Jared. You glanced around again quickly. This was a proper room, with a ceiling and all its walls, it wasn't a studio set.

"Hey!" Dean/Jensen shouted and took a step into the room, pulling a gun from somewhere behind him, his waistband maybe, as he did. It was cocked and aimed at your head when he repeated, "who are you? How did you get in here?"

You tried to answer, your mouth moved, but the only sound that came out was a pathetic little squeak.

"WHO ARE YOU!?!"


	2. Chapter 2

You put your hands up as much as you could without letting go of the towel. As Dean/Jensen (although you were really leaning towards Dean at this point, even though that was a whole bunch of levels of crazy beyond magically teleporting into a strange shower where Jensen Ackles just happened to be) took a very menacing step towards you into the room and managed to somehow make the gun in his hands seem even more threatening. The door swung slowly shut with a long, drawn out squeaking groan, behind him.

"Whoa, I, I'm..." you stammered.

"WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?" he shouted again.

"Dean?" you heard, slightly muffled by the closed door, from down the hall. But you recognized that voice too, without even realizing you did.

"I'm Y/N. Y/N. I'm not...I don't..."

"SHOWER!" Dean shouted and you twitched and blinked in startled confusion.

"What?" you said.

"How did you get in here?" Dean repeated as the door behind him opened again and a second gun appeared to one side of him, followed cautiously by one, very tall, Sam Winchester. His mouth was grimly set, but his eyes glanced with worry from you to his brother and back to you. In that quick look you could see him take in both of your stances, assess the situation, the wheels in his head already turning, analyzing what might have happened.

"Hey! Answer me!" Dean shifted his position just enough to draw your attention back to him. But your brain kept getting stuck on the impossibility of the whole situation, like it had dug its heels in and refused to go down the road it suddenly found itself on, and you couldn't make yourself form a complete answer.

"I don't, I'm not, I, uh, I..." Your throat was so dry, it felt swollen and you were having a lot of trouble swallowing. You realized you were shaking and it felt like your heart was vibrating between your ribs. You were pretty sure hearts weren't supposed to do that and were thinking that you might need to sit down when everything just sort of started to fade out. Your vision blurred and went dark around the edges. As it did, you saw Sam and Dean's faces spin up towards the ceiling and you were surprised to see nearly matching looks of concern on them, although Dean's face was also managing to look annoyed. Then everything was dark, and hard, and cold, and then nothing at all.


	3. Chapter 3

Your mouth was dry.

"She's starting to come around."

There was a shuffling sound, like fabric rustling and shoes shifting against a hard floor.

"Hey. Hey, wake up." 

You tried to swallow but felt like you had a mouthful of cardboard. Why was your mouth so dry? 

"Come on, wake up."

You smacked your lips a few times, trying to get enough saliva worked up so you could swallow and clear your throat. When you tried to open your eyes everything seemed blurry and out of focus. You blinked slowly but still couldn't focus. When you tried to raise your hand to your face, to rub the sleep out of your eyes, something pinched your wrist as it firmly held your arm down. You were wearing a grey bathrobe and were sitting in a chair, a chair that you appeared to be tied to. You pulled in a deep, sudden breath as panic flared through you, adrenaline coursing through you and clearing your vision.

"There you go."

You looked up, following denim clad legs up to two broad expanses of plaid, and finally the stern faces of Sam and Dean Winchester. 

"Sam and Dean?" You croaked weakly.

"So you know us but who are you?" Sam said.

"And how did you get in our shower?" Dean quickly added.

This was insane. This couldn't be real, it had to be a dream.

"I don't know, I was in my shower and then I was here." Dean rolled his eyes. Sam's brow creased as he pursed his lips. "Maybe a passed out and hit my head and now I'm dreaming...or..." Your eyes went wide. "Or I'm dead?"

"You're not dead yet, sweetheart." There was a distinct tone of menace to Dean's voice and you realized he was being the bad cop in this interrogation.

"Y/N? That's your name, right?" Sam asked, good cop tone, and you nodded. "Where do you live?"

You told him the name of your hometown and his eyebrows raised up. "But this can't be real, you're not real, is this some sort of joke?" You pulled against the rope, it sure as hell felt real.

"You aren't a demon, aren't a shifter or werewolf, not a vampire or anything else like that. Are you a witch?" Dean took a slight step back and dropped his arms and pulled his gun out from behind his back. 

"No! Witches aren't real! You aren't real!" You were beginning to freak out again, you were vaguely aware that you were breathing too quickly, but couldn't slow it down.

"If we're not real then you won't mind if I shoot you." Dean cocked the pistol to punctuate the threat and your vision started to darken around the edges again.

"Whoa! Whoa. Breathe. Don't pass out again." Sam said, bending down and reaching one hand towards your shoulder. "We're not going to shoot you." He said pointedly and cast a quick glare at his brother.

"Yes we will."

"NOT if you talk to us, we won't. We need to know if you're a threat and how you got in here."

"I don't know!" You wailed. "I was taking a shower and then I was here. I closed my eyes and leaned into the water and when I opened them again I was here. Is this the bunker? Am I in the Men of Letters' bunker?" You looked around and realized that they had you in the room where they'd kept Crowley chained up. It was a complete room, no cameras, no room for cameras, and it was just the three of you. "This is a fucking TV show! HOW THE HELL AM I HERE?"

"Wait? What?"

"A TV show?"

Sam stood back up, they both took a step back from you and looked at each other. It was one of those patented Winchester Brother looks, the ones were they communicate without talking.

"Fuck." Dean sighed and lowered his gun. "You thinking what I'm thinking, Padaleski?"


	4. Chapter 4

You looked at Dean in confusion, a look that was mirrored by Sam for a brief moment. But where you were still lost, realization quickly dawned on him, you could see it wash over his features, creasing his brow in annoyed thought.

"You mean Padalecki? How do you know that name?" You asked and glanced between the two men, trying to read their expressions. Dean snapped his fingers in your direction and looked at Sam, as if what you just said confirmed something. Sam just sighed, deeply, and rolled his eyes before motioning to Dean to step out of the room with him.

As Dean followed, you realized you were going to be left alone, tied to a chair in a shadowy, dimly lit room, and the panic started to rear up again. "Don't leave me here!"

"We'll be right back." Sam said as he shut the door behind them. 

It was silent, or very nearly so. The harder you unconsciously strained to make out any possible noises, the louder your breathing seemed to get. You held your breath, but then found that you could hear your heart racing, your pulse pounding in your ears. But then, from the hallway came Dean's voice rising in irritation, "...time for this bullshit!"

You released your breath in relief. They were just out in the hall, probably discussing what to do with you. Which, if you really stopped to think about it, probably shouldn't have made you feel better. But just knowing that you weren't really alone was a huge help. You started to actually look around as you listened and waited. Every once in a while you could almost make out a word or two, but other than the original outburst, they were keeping their voices down. The room you were in looked just like it did on the show, except you could actually see the ceiling, which was lower than you would have expected. There was a bright, recessed light in the center, shining right down on you where you sat in the middle of the large devil's trap that was painted on the floor. You could also see some of the shelves in the other half of the room, the part that looked like an innocent storage room, dusty stacks of objects, both arcane and ordinary, stretched into darkness in front of you.

Looking down at yourself, you realized that the robe your were wearing looked just like Dean's dead guy robe. Making sure the guys were still out in the hall you leaned over and touched your nose to your shoulder and sniffed the fabric. Your eyes closed. The robe had a distinct, and very pleasant, manly sort of scent to it. Were you wearing Dean's robe?

The sound of the doorknob turning seemed startlingly loud and you jumped a bit at the sudden noise. Sam and Dean walked back in, their steps unconsciously in sync with one another, and stood in front of you, stopping at the same time and crossing their arms across their chests. They were like a mismatched matching pair, different yet the very much the same. You loved it when they did that on the show, but seeing it first hand was much more impressive. Your cheeks felt warm and your embarrassment at that fact only seemed to make it worse.

"Y/N, we, ah, talked and decided that we don't think you are much of a threat, given the circumstances." Sam said before adding, "and we think we might be able to send you back to, ah, to where you came from." He gave you a cautiously reassuring smile.

"Really?" You asked quietly, as Dean walked behind you and begin untying the ropes from around you. 

"Really." Dean said.

"Hopefully." Sam said at the same time. You and Dean both look at him.

"We've done the spell before." Dean said.

"Not exactly. We tried to do the spell before and nothing happened."

"Right, because magic didn't work there."

"Right." Sam agreed as if Dean had just proven his point. Dean shrugged at him. In mild exasperation, Sam elaborated. "We don't know if we got the spell right at all, Dean. It's possible that Balthazar used more angel power than spell power to send us there and bring us back. The spell might not work without a celestial jumpstart."

"It'll work, or, we'll figure out a way to make it work."

Sam started to object, stopped himself, frowned for a second, but then you could see the wheels already turning, working the problem, and he took a deep breath, nodded, turned and strode off.

As your arms were freed you rubbed your wrists, the ropes had started to dig in and chafe. Dean walked back around you, coiling up the length of thick rope as he stepped back.

"He'll figure it out." He reassured you.

You stood up, making sure the bathrobe wasn't hanging open anywhere it shouldn't. "I know he will, Sam's kinda awesome that way." 

You didn't think how weird it was that you knew that, that you knew so much about these characters whose lives you just dropped into. But Dean was looking at you funny, like he was annoyed and a little disgusted for a brief moment, before he shrugged and just nodded.

"Yeah. He is." Dean sat the coiled up rope on one of the shelves. "But until then, don't take this the wrong way, but, I'm not letting you out of my sight, just in case."

A small shiver ran through you at the sudden seriousness that came over him with those last words. They were laced with an unspoken but very real threat that if you turned out to be playing them, if you did anything to warrant it, he wouldn't hesitate to deal with you. You gulped and nodded and he was smiling, just like that.

"Glad we understand each other. You hungry? 'Cause I'm hungry. Come on." And he ushered you out of the room.


	5. Chapter 5

"You want a burger?" Dean asked as the two of you walked into the Bunker's industrial-style kitchen.

"Sure." You sat down on a wooden stool attached to a table sticking out from the wall. Your leg brushed against cold metal, sending goosebumps up your legs and you shifted position to get away from it. As you did, the bathrobe started to open, revealing more skin than you'd intended. You tugged the front of the robe closed.

"Um, Dean?" It still felt weird talking to a fictional character, even if that fictional character was busy being a living, breathing human being in front of you. "Could I get something more to wear? This robe is comfy and all, but..."

"That robe is awesome." He glanced over at you as he took a pack of ground beef out of the refrigerator and put it on a stainless steel counter. His eyes gave you the briefest of once overs. "And it looks good on you."

He turned and grabbed a pan from the stovetop, looked in it, and set it back down, apparently satisfied that it was clean enough to use, before he continued.

"None of our stuff's really going to fit you, but we can find something...after we eat."

You sighed and folded your arms on the table in front of you, double checked that you weren't flashing too much cleavage, and resigned yourself to waiting, waiting and watching Dean Winchester cook. 

He moved with a grace and efficiency that comes from practice, this was something he obviously did a lot. It was like watching him clean guns on the show, only he was cooking...for you. As absurd as this entire situation was you realized that as likely as it was just a dream, it was, nevertheless, a dream come true. The sound of sizzling grew steadily louder as a cloud of steam rose up from the pan. He wasn't smiling but he looked focused and almost serene. He hadn't shaved recently, and there was a shadow of stubble along his jaw, accenting his cheekbones. His lips would occasionally purse together as he concentrated. When he turned, you watched his shirt pull and stretch across his shoulders.

You blinked and looked down. He was even more attractive in person than he was on tv, which you wouldn't have thought possible, but there was no denying the effect he was having on you. You just hoped the flush in your cheeks wasn't as obvious as it felt.

"Voila!" He said as he sat a plate down in front of you. On it was an obscenely large, greasy, utterly delectable looking cheeseburger. Your stomach growled and you suddenly realized that you were starving.

Dean sat down across from you, an equally enticing burger on his own plate. He pushed his rolled up sleeves a little further up his arms before scooping up his burger with both hands, his eyes sparkling, and licked his lips before taking an enormous bite. "Mmm."

You realized that your mouth was hanging open a split second before he looked at you, giving you just enough time to close it. 

"Eat up." He mumbled while chewing.

You cleared your throat and picked up your own burger, the burger Dean Winchester had just made for you. You took a bite and nearly choked because he was watching you so intently, his lips slightly parted. But you managed to chew and swallow, even as a grin spread across his face.

"Huh?" He prompted.

"Mmm!" You managed to reply.

"Damn right." He said and took another huge bite, still grinning and his eyes fucking sparkling.


	6. Chapter 6

"So," you paused, feeling awkward at the drawn out silence as Dean rummaged through Sam's dresser. You shifted your feet on the cold floor, glanced around trying to focus on the neat, slightly spartan, contents of the room, Sam's room, but your eyes kept landing back on Dean's bent form and the way his shirt stretched across his shoulders. You tried to swallow, failed, cleared your throat and continued, "are you two in between cases at the moment?"

"I guess." He shut one drawer and opened the next. "Although, now we've got you. I'd say you count as a case. Ah, here we go." And he tossed you a pair of shorts. "See if those fit."

You sat the black tee shirt he'd already handed you on the bed and leaned over to step into the jogging shorts, turning away from him as you pulled them up under the robe. They were big on you, but they had a drawstring and you were able to cinch them up enough that they'd stay on.

"These will work." You said as you turned back around.

"Good." He answered.

There was a pause, neither of you moved. Finally you picked up the tee shirt and looked at him.

A blush burned across your cheeks. "Uh, I know you've seen me naked already, but, a little privacy would be appreciated anyway."

He looked at the tee shirt in your hand, shrugged and made that adorable sort of frowny face as he nodded. "Yep." He walked just out the door and stopped with his back to you. 

Realizing that he was going to wait like that, you untied the robe quickly and let it fall to the floor. Cool air ghosted across your skin, raising goosebumps and making your nipples harden. It wasn't just the chill that made you shiver as you pulled the soft, black tee over your head. It was the thrill of being half naked, if only for a second, in Sam Winchester's bedroom while Dean stood just a few feet away. It was a rare moment of vulnerable exposure without being observed and then the shirt settled around you and you scooped the robe back up from the floor.

"Done."

Dean turned and looked you up and down. He gave a little nod, stepped back from the doorway so you could leave the room and waved you out with a lazy sweeping movement of his arm. As you joined him in the hallway he let his arm fall against his leg and sighed. "Now I'm not really sure what to do with you. Usually people we don't trust are locked up when they're here, I'm not used to babysitting."

You let out a short laugh. "I'm really not a threat." He gave you a look and you held your hands up and shrugged. "But I get that you don't trust me and, believe it or not, I understand why. What would you've been doing if I wasn't here?"

He thought about it before answering. "Changing the oil in my car."

You brightened immediately, how could you have forgotten about Baby? "Oh right! I'd love to see her...I mean it...I mean...is it, would it be too weird if I just call her Baby?"

Dean looked surprised, smiled and turned the most adorable shade of pink across his cheeks, but when he spoke it was full of disbelief, "really?"

"Definitely! Which way is the garage?"

**Author's Note:**

> Like this? Want more? Buy me a ko-fi and I'll write you at least 500 more words.
> 
> Copy and paste this link into your web browser's address bar...  
> https://ko-fi.com/jinkieswouldyoulookatthis
> 
> Or be patient and eventually I'll probably finish it on my own. But I update VERY infrequently unless properly motivated. ;)
> 
> NOTE: This isn't a demand for money. Truth is that I am financially broke and just looking for ways that I can earn a little extra money. Consider it like that little tip jar at your local carry-out joint. Tips are appreciated, not required.


End file.
